Show me your Teeth
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "…That being said, for the first time since the world had gone completely mad, the raw, burning need for the gentle singe of nicotine had all but died out completely… In a way he wasn't sure if he should be grateful or perturbed..."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** Please keep in mind that in this particular fiction**: I**** am**** simply**** building ****off**** where**** the**_** first**_** season**** finale ****left**** off.**** (This**** was**** written ****before ****the**** season two**** premier)**.*Contains adult language, adult situations, very, very vague possiblity of slash, possible past OC reference, and allusions to drug use.

**Authors**** Note:** For this story I was really going for something that Norman Reedus mentioned in an AMC interview. Where he focused on how he sees his character, terming Daryl as a character that boasts "a different shades of redneck." In writing this, I was really trying to delve into this 'imperfect' character a bit more and get introspective on what would be going through his head after where the season finale left us last October.

**Show me your Teeth **

After the CDC everyone looked pretty much shell shocked, bludgeoned into a strange, discomforting kind of silence that made the flesh underneath his skin _crawl_. But unlike the others, he had forced himself to breathe it in. The anger, the frustration, hell, even the acrid tint of singed chemicals still drifting in the lazy mid summer breeze; fall out from the rising clouds that had chased them past the city limits and beyond.

…_That__ being__ said,__ for__ the __first__ time__ since __the__ world__ had__ gone __completely __arse__ over__ tit,__ the__ raw,__ burning __need__ for__ the __gentle __singe__ of__ nicotine __had __all __but __died __out __completely__… _In a way he wasn't sure if he should be grateful or perturbed.

He tried not to pay the others any mind, seeing no sense in getting caught up in their melodramatics and tears. The situation simply was what it was. _Nothin__' __more__ and__ certainly__ nothin__' __less._ However, even he had to admit that there was one aspect of the whole thing that was really starting to wear on him. It wasn't just the giant cluster fuck that had been Atlanta, or even the god damned CDC. It was the sheer unpredictable nature of this disease, this _virus._ Who it struck, who it took, and who it left..

_It was as random as a side winding twister and ten times as deadly. _

How could you fight something like this? How could you win? He supposed that the point of the matter was that you _couldn__'__t_. That's what was _really_ galling. Sure you could fight your way through walker after walker, you could camp out in the middle of butt fuck no where and survive on just your skills and the size of your balls. But in the end, what happens when you shut your eyes? Even if it was just for one moment?

_It was all left to chance…fate. _

And that was the catch of the thing, because he didn't _believe_ in fate. He believed in himself. The only thing…the only person in this whole messed up world that he knew he could _always_ count on. He didn't need anyone else. He didn't need any Promised Land, 'we have a future' bullshit either. He'd take his reality stone cold, bloody, and served up raw on a big fucking platter thank you very much.

But for the others it was different. The loss of the CDC had been far more cut throat and keen for the likes of them. They had allowed themselves to hope that maybe they didn't have to run anymore. That maybe, despite it all, they could be safe again. And to have that hope ripped away like that, gone in less time then it took to blink, had been absolutely devastating to the lot of them. In a way he understood it. Yet in another way he didn't. Sure the grub and the hot running water had been something to savour. And sure the feel of a real box spring mattress and those overly indulgent silk sheets had certainly been a marvel to the senses. But even then, he hadn't exactly been planning on setting down roots in the place either.

_Life__'__s__ a__ bitch__ and__ then__ you __die._

They'd get over it. It wasn't like things had gone exactly the way he'd wanted them too either. At least they'd gotten a few square meals and a shower out of the deal. These days you really couldn't ask for anymore then that. In fact, by his reasoning they had actually been lucky. After all, who could boast nearly two days of three square meals a day, hot running water, and all the booze they could properly drink? And it was done all without having to worry about getting dive bombed and hamstringed by a walker or three when all you wanted to do was to take a god damned piss.

_It was a tall order to be sure, especially these days._

But for the others the feeling remained, festering out in the open like a wound that wouldn't mend, cloyingly thick and pervasive in the still Georgian air. And like moths to a flame, each and every one of them had come to sit together around a single, rather sickly looking fire. Dead eyes glinted in the near light like they weren't really seeing anything at all.

There were no words being spoken, with no one saying much of anything save for a few half muted whispers here and there. And even then, the words were stilted. Nothing much _to_ say he supposed. Nothing save for that single burning question that was still reverberating through his mind like a bloody brass band. The one question that no one seemed to be asking anymore..at least not since the CDC.

_Now what?_

The soles of his boots ground deeply into the crumbling black top, nudging a few badly mixed chunks to the side as he dropped down from the tail gate of his old Ford. Hanging back deliberately as he took in the others still ringed around the main fire, bundled up against a greater chill that came from within. Apparently he wasn't the only one that could still smell the scent of burning cordierite on the air..

After a long moment of deliberation he left the sidelines and joined the others, saying nothing as he sank down on his haunches in the space that had been left for him between Glenn and T-dog. Ignoring the way a collective sigh seemed to issue from around the breadth of the circle as he took his place. As if by his presence alone the group somehow gained some small semblance of peace for the first time since they had made camp that evening.

And while he said nothing, simply staring into the fire with a critical eye, weaving a river reed in between his fingers as he pondered on the longevity of the coals, privately he wasn't exactly sure what to do with the fact that it felt almost as though they had not only _expected_ him to join them, but had wanted him to as well.. He chewed on the inside of his cheek at the thought. Not even noticing what he had done until the metallic trickle of raw copper assault his taste buds. He didn't even blink when he forced himself to swallow. Wouldn't be the first time he had tasted his own blood, and he reckoned it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Everyone seemed to be sitting just a fraction of an inch too close, as if by close quarters alone they could glean some small measure of safety from the uncertainty that now spiralled out before each of them. He was careful to preserve his space, sitting directly in the center of the spot he'd claimed for his own. But all that didn't count for shit when despite both his glare, and a few rather pointed attempts to avoid body contact, Glenn moved _closer_ beside him, fussing about until their shoulders brushed, apparently oblivious to the fact that he seemed to have more then enough space on his _other_ side.

_He felt like the filling in a god damned sandwich._

And for a long, tense moment where he actually debated the merits of just getting up and telling the kid to fuck off, in the end, he decided against it when the young Korean shivered. Hunching his shoulders another impossible inch inward until the man looked a whole lot like a sea turtle trying to retreat into its shell. To anyone else it might have looked endearing.

'_City __folk.__' _He snorted. '_They __didn__'__t __know __the__ first__ thing__ about__ a__ cold,__ Georgian __night.__ Bunch__ of__ fuckin__' __pussies,__ the__ lot__ of__ '__em.__'_

Through hooded eyes he took stock of his companions. Wondering, not for the first time, how any of them had managed to make it this far in the first place. It wasn't that he believed that some people _deserved_ to live more then others. _It__ wasn__'__t__ that__ at__ all._ He didn't think that anything, man, woman, child, or beast deserved to die like _that_. But he did believe that there were some people out there that _wanted_ it. That wanted to live more then just the average jerk off that wandered around the city streets.

_He was talking about the survivors. The real ones._

And for the last few weeks he had almost come to believe that he was in the company of just such a group. For the most part they _wanted _it. Couldn't find their assholes with a flashlight mind you, but the desire to make it was still the same. But _now,_ what he was seeing around the fire certainly wasn't making much sense.

_..It was as if the fight had suddenly left them. The fire, the raw want, the need, it had all vanished. Dissipating into the air like water hitting a red hot skillet. Getting absorbed back into the air like it hadn't even been there in the first place…_

He glanced at Rick from across the fire, the man was still holding tight to his wife and son, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was being watched by someone _other_ then himself. By the man's own ex-partner no less. He had no idea why the man couldn't sense it, or even see it in the way the man's fingers clenched, twitching sporadically whenever Lori moved, snuggling closer into the curve of the man's shoulder like she didn't have a care in the world. The man was a ticking time bomb, and everyone but Rick seemed to know it..

_Or perhaps he did know. It was hard to tell with Grimes. The man had one hell of a poker face._

Giving the tense threesome a calculating eye, he shook his head minutely. Now there was a fucked up situation for you. The world had all but ended around them and people were still making the same old mistakes. Even when he and Merle had run across them in those first few days, anyone and an idiot could tell that Lori wasn't _his_ woman. Because despite their overly familiar nature, something was just…off about them. Besides, they weren't nearly as discrete as they thought they were. _Everyone __knew_. Save for maybe the little ones. That kind of noise carries in the woods.

_Discrete his pale white ass._

It was none of his business, but he privately wondered when that sordid little soap opera was going to explode into the open for good. Rick might be a cop, but he sure as hell wasn't stupid. The man was going to find out, if he didn't suspect it already. It was just a matter of time. That kind of stuff just doesn't keep, even in the best of times, and it certainly wasn't going last long now. Privately, he just hoped that Shane would have his Mossberg in hand when it did.

He didn't trust Shane, hadn't from the beginning. There was just something about him that made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. Something that was just.._off._ The man was damn near unstable, and had a shorter fuse then a defective piece of dynamite. Especially after that whole episode with the gun in the CDC.. _And__ they__ had__ the__ balls __to__ call__** him**__ hot__ headed?_

He figured it was the return of Grimes that had done it. When he'd shown up, rolling into camp as he was later told, with much fanfare and beaten up heroics, it had snapped that delicate balance the man had been nursing in his brain since this whole mess had started. The man had protected Grime's family throughout this whole fucked up mess, and before you did anything else, you had to respect a man for that. But in the end, he had banked far too much on those two, his heart, his mind, hell, probably even his sanity. And now that Rick had returned, and they were no longer his to protect, well… All the signs were there. He knew the look.

_Some__ people__ just __couldn__'__t __take__ it._ Merle was a good enough example of that, what with the drugs and all. Merle had always been fucked up, especially after his time in the slam. But never like this. Because nowadays Merle used like it was some sort of crutch, like he needed then more then ever. _'__Just__ to __take__ the __edge __off..__'_ He'd say, forcing a smile across his trembling lips even as he reached for that cursed little bag in his vest's inner pocket. But in the end it was just a fuckin' excuse and even Merle knew it.

Grimes though, he was different. Because despite his rather unceremonious introduction into this brand new, fucked up world, he had to admit that the man was taking it remarkable well. _Or__ as__ well__ as__ anyone__ could __at __any __rate._ Maybe it was the difference in his temperament, or maybe it was the fact that at the end of the day, he knew he had his family to come back to. Regardless, whatever it was seemed to temper and balance out the bad, providing him with a very visible sort of stability, the very same stability that Shane had only recently lost with his unexpected return.

He could tell though, if everything hadn't gone to shit, that Grimes would have been the kind of guy that he and Merle would have _loved_ to hate. He was the long arm of the law personified_._ A do-gooder riddled through with so many good intentions that he could have made sugar cane rot. The man was outdated, like a relic from a different age. Because good intentions and a handsome face didn't mean _dick_ out here these days.

But for the moment, despite what he'd done to Merle, the man excluded a sort of natural leadership that most men could only sit back and envy. It was a temperament that had drawn the others in like flies to honey. Hell, the man hadn't been in camp longer then a _day_ before their loyalties had shifted. Not that he particularly blamed them mind you. Shane was a fucked up fucker with a short fuse and a big ass gun. Even a fool could tell that the man wasn't exactly stable.

Besides that, not many people would walk willingly back into a death trap. Especially for some stupid, hot headed asshole that was just as likely to shank you when your back was turned, solely to right a wrong. You had to respect a man for something like that. It would seem that at the end of the day, for as little as it was worth, Rick Grimes was a good man. _A__ man__ you__ could__ actually__ trust__ to __hold __his__ word._

T-Dawg he still didn't know much about. And honestly he didn't much care to, especially after what had happened on the rooftop with Merle. He and Jacquie had rolled in together in that beaten up church van not long after Morales and his brood had followed the radio broadcasts from Shane's CB. But he supposed it had to be said that the man was reasonably good in a fight. Being just that much of a do-gooder that he figured he could probably trust the man to watch his back if the situation called for it. Still, he had sneered at the man's apologies. Apologies wouldn't bring Merle back. Nor right the wrong that had been done to him. Merle might have been a fucked up son of a bitch, but what they'd done, leaving him up on the roof like that, chained like some sort of rabid dog just hadn't been right.

_Plain and bloody simply. They knew it, and he knew it._

Deep in his gut, the resentment for that injustice still burned. Because he knew not that long ago, there had been a time when all he would have had to do was make the smallest of peeps and Merle would have been right there by his side. Still just as bad tempered, hot headed, impulsive, and crude as he always was, but _there_ nonetheless, and ready to crack heads for the sake of his kid brother. But when Merle had gotten out of prison a lot of things changed, it had broken something in him. It had snapped off some vital part and replaced it with something inferior, something less reliable and sturdy. Merle had tried to hide it, taking cover behind bow legged swagger and lie encrusted lips, but even then it hadn't taken him long. He knew Merle better then he reckoned Merle even knew himself. Because this time it wasn't _just_ about the blow or the booze, this time it was something worse..

_Merle had changed. And it certainly hadn't been for the better._

The woman, Carol, was damaged goods. You could see it in her eyes. She had been abused too much for too long. He had recognized the signs right away, because whether she knew it out not, the woman wore her pain like a banner. Her hair was cut short, clipped right to the scalp in an effort to diminish it as a tempting target to yank on in the middle of an argument. Hell, he hadn't been the only one to notice that her bruises were getting replaced far too frequently to be easily explained as being by-products of living outdoors.

Privately his blood had boiled. Anger and disgust flaring like nausea in his gut every time he was forced to look across camp and see that bastard's ugly ass face. He might be a lot of things, but if there was one thing he wouldn't stand for in this world, it was beating on your wife and kid. To have a good woman and a child of your own was a _privilege_. Not a right. Just as being a father and a husband was the same. You're supposed to _protect_ your own, and fight tooth and nail to keep them.

_Hell, even Merle knew that._

He'd even considered doing the world a favour and quietly offing the son of a bitch before that deadhead had gone and done it for him. But in the end, he had to admit, he had been quite pleased with results. _The__ bastard__ had__ gotten __what__ he__ deserved._ But still, that didn't change the fact that the damage had already been done. The woman was broken. Her spirit shot through with far too many holes then anyone had the right to take. And even with her old man gone, her eyes still reflected hollow, and empty in the banked firelight, as if the only reason she was still hanging on was for the sake of her little one. In fact, if Sophia hadn't been pressed firmly to her side throughout the entirety of this whole mess, he wouldn't have been surprised if she had decided to chuck it in with the others at the CDC.

His eyes roved around the circle one more time, head canting from side to side as he ran a hand across the uneven stubble that peppered across the span of his cheeks. Shaking his head as a sore joint in his shoulder throbbed, the pain muted and almost sullen as he flexed the sore muscles, testing their give before he stretched. His pose deliberately exaggerated as he arched his body into the movement itself. The others didn't even _look_ in his direction.

_..All in all they were a pretty pathetic bunch. There just weren't any two ways to get around it anymore.._

He snorted in derision, unable to contain his frustration as the others went almost doe eyed in response. With the noise earning him a series of rather startled looks from both Lori and Carol and a suspicious one from Shane, the man's dark eyes promising violence in the low light. Even the kid shifted beside him, brushing the tattered shirt sleeves of his blazer across the span of his upper arm as he twisted in place, eyeing him through his sable fringe as if the man was expecting something more to follow. _God__ only__ knows__ what__** that**__ was._ But save for that, the others didn't even look up, their eyes dull and lifeless as they stared into the depths of the glowing amber coals…

Anger coiled deep in the pit of his stomach_.__ People__ had__ died __so__ that__** they**__ could__ live,__ and__** this**__ was__ how__ they__ replayed __that __debt?..._Sure, life had been hard. And sure it seemed as though they couldn't catch a fucking break, but damn! They were still alive weren't they? That had to be worth_ something_. But apparently the others didn't seem to see it that way.

And it was _exactly_ this kind of shit that took him back to that moment after the CDC. The moment where he'd seriously considered just cutting ties completely and heading off on his on. No more dead weight. No more blundering idiots getting him him killed…_or__ worse_. No more eternal optimists or passive aggressive do-gooders, too blind to do what was necessary in order to survive. He had to admit that the thought had been pretty damn tempting.

But that train of thought had only lasted as far as Amal Heights, just outside of Atlanta proper. And from that rest stop, just on the outskirts of that podunk little town, they had watched Atlanta burn. The smoking ruins of the massive complex darkening the sky behind them with a premature haze of acrid, black smoke. And for a time he had watched with them, body still reeling from yet _another_ near miss. Trying to organize his mind around the fact that not only had fate had once again thrown them out on their collective asses, but also coming to grips with the idea that they _might_ have just lost humanities best chance at fixing this whole mess.

But after a while he had turned away. Away from the others as they watched the looming pillars of smoke and ash, away from the crumpled faces and the violent retching sounds that echoed in the still air as Andrea dry heaved against the side of the RV, and the children cried. Instead, his fingers were already reaching for the outline of the truck keys he'd shoved into his pocket, the motion unconscious but keenly honest. …_Feet__ itchin__' __to__ be__ moving __again._

_He hadn't been able to stand the gawping… Besides, it wasn't like lookin' was going to change anything anyway.._

But as he turned away, feet angling back towards the crumbling old blacktop, he was forced to take in the faces of the others standing around him. And it was in _that_ moment where he had that single, rather irritating moment of clarity. Because he realized that if he did _just_ get up and leave, that these people wouldn't make it. _Flat__ out._ If the walkers didn't get them, then starvation and stupid choices eventually would. They weren't made to live outside their cushy cities, with their manicured lawns, white picket fences, and cookie cutter houses. _Not__ like__ he__ was_. He had been born and bred out in the woods. Hell, as a Dixon he'd had a hunting knife plunked in his hand long before he did a spoon.

_He was built for this shit._

But at the same time, it was thoughts like this that inevitably made him wonder exactly when he had begun to actually give a shit. _To__ care._ Like taking it personally when placed in a situation where the others could either live or die_…__Shit._ He didn't like it. It stank of a responsibility. And he didn't _do_ responsibilities, especially if it was responsibilities to other people. Not since -_..._ He shook the memories away. Shaking off the sudden discomfort like a coon dog coming in from the rain. _There__ was__ no __use__ in__ dwelling__ anyway._ It wasn't his way.

He spared a look back towards the flames as one of the logs shifted. The movement sending up a pathetically small burst of sparks as the half burned oak settled further into the low burning coals. But it was enough to light up the circle, sending macabre shadows flickering across lengths of ten identically pale faces, playing with the darkening ripples as the shadows etched temporary scars across their skin. It provided a stark contrast when he considered the heady grins and happy flushes that had graced the very same faces less then a day before. Back when they had a full set of contended bellies, and the ringing echoes of unrestrained laughter reverberating in their tired ears.

_..Back when there had been enough wine and Southern Comfort to forget.. At least for a little while... Enough to mute the demons and the guilt.. It was advice he'd enjoyed to excess in fact, if his hangover the next morning had been any indication.._

There were tears running down Andrea's face. Or 'the spitfire' as Merle had privately taken to calling her only a day and a half into their stay. Only now the reference had never seemed more inappropriate. Because now the woman wasn't even hiding it, doing nothing to stem the flow as the tears fell. Letting the salt tracks set like age lines down her cheeks and chin. Even the old man seemed at a loss, holding a clutch of napkins in his hand from his place beside her at the fire, having seemingly not worked up the courage to even so much as offer them to her yet. Not that she would have noticed however. Because she wouldn't even look at the man, her eyes downcast and haunted, broken like a dog that had been beaten one too many times.

Anger bubbled up like toxins in his gut, because for some reason, the sight didn't instil sympathy or even pity. It just made him mad. _Real__ mad._ Did they really think that they had been the only ones that had lost something in this whole mess? Were they _that_ selfish and short-sighted? He had lost a lot too, lost _everything_ in fact. But was he dwelling on it? Letting it rule him like fear?

.._Not __bloody__ likely__…_

**A/N:** Please let me know if you think I should continue. Reviews and constructive criticism are love!

**A/N****#2:** Let me repeat. I wrote this story months before the season two opener and have only worked on it over last two days in order to edit it. It took the back burner as I worked on my other WD story: "Rotation." This is meant to fill in the gap immediately after the last Season One episode. I haven't had a moment to see the Season Two premier so I have no idea how this will or will not fix in. So take it as you will.

"_All__ that __is__ really__ necessary__ for__ survival__ of__ the__ fittest,__ it__ seems,__ is__ an __interest __in__ life,__ good,__ bad__ or__ peculiar.__" __-__Grace__ Paley_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside…

**Warnings:** Please see original chapter for a complete set of warnings and other story related details. This chapter contains adult language, adult situations, and allusions to drug use.

**Authors**** Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**Show me your Teeth_– __Chapter__ 2_**

He had worked hard for what he had. And while it hadn't been much, it had been something he could put his name too. It was something that _could_ have been good… Something like twenty more acres, and a down payment at a fancy jewelers upstate. Where forever could be given in the form a black velvet box, as the sound of that single, three letter word echoes through the thick, summer air like a peal of laughter.

_And he could have had it…All of it. Right down to the smarmy Kodiak commercials on TV, and the smell of fresh lavender drying on its head from the kitchen ceiling. He could have had the sensation of soft breaths gusting across his nape as delicate arms wrapped around him from behind. He could have had competition for his own bathroom in the mornings and the smell of perfume overpowering that of aftershave. He could have had teasing looks and come hither eyes. And moments where the both of them didn't end up anywhere even **close** to the bedroom…_

Only now, just like everything else, it was all gone. The family farm was gone. His life savings, money that he had carefully and painstakingly saved, money that would have been enough to fix up the homestead for good and put pride back in the Dixon family name, was gone as well. Hell, all those greenbacks were probably mouldering somewhere in a bank upstate. Rendered pointless in a world where the only currency left was your life and the size of your balls.

And people? Well, he'd lost damn near _everyone_. The few people he had actually cared anything for, save for Merle's stupid ass, were gone. His best buddies, Holland, Dano, Earl, and Landon had all been killed before they could even so much as make it to their gun safes, dying on the side of the road half way home from the mill after the night shift. Their vehicles swarmed before this disease, this _thing_ even had a name. The authorities had said it had been wild animals, a tragic accident. _But __he__'__d__ known __different._ Because those fancy, suit wearing authorities that had descended on the morgue soon after, came out with pale faces, bandaged forearms, and the scent of fresh vomit lingering on their lips.

_Even back then, he'd called bullshit._

Ethan and Madison, friends of his since diapers had been ripped into like wild animals in the little house they fallen in love with down by the bayou, only a five minute walk from the docks where Ethan had gotten down on one knee and asked her to marry him. It had killed a part of him to find them like that, all torn open and bloody. They had been the kind of people that you just _knew_ had been destined to be together. Their futures set ever since that day in fourth grade on the school playground, only a week after Maddie and her family had moved down from North Brooklyn. When she had turned around and kicked Ethan square in the family jewels, finally fed up after days of Ethan making fun of everything from her red polka dot dress, to her sandy blonde pig tails.

_It had been love at first sight as far as he'd been concerned._

He wiped a hand across his gritty face, kneading the dirt further into his pores as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. As if by sheer force alone he could somehow purge himself of the memories that seemed bound and determined to overtake his conscious thoughts. That was the problem with the past, because, in a very real way, the past was never _really_ the past at all.

_And in his case, the past had a face.. _

Her name was Mary Jane, his sweet, perfect Mary Jane. She had been as pretty as the sunrise with her auburn ringlets and bright green eyes, all feisty fire and good old fashioned Georgian spunk. She had always been a strong willed thing, reminding him of himself more often then not. She had been a woman any man would have been proud to call his own. The kind of woman you were supposed to hold on to. To keep close and never let go of, lest you spend the rest of your life cursing yourself for letting her slip away. She had been his best friend and his old high school sweetheart, the first girl to have his heart. And he reckoned she would also be the last, at least for a good long while.

Memories were fickle things. They sneak up on you when you least expect it and elude you completely when you actually want to remember. And in this case he didn't want to remember, least of all certainly not now. So naturally, just because his brain was just as much of a bastard as the rest of him, his mind had already started cycling through them. The images flashing through his minds eyes like micro-film stuck on fast forward. And while the edges were blurred, coming out unstable and far too fast, that didn't change the fact that his gut had already started roiling. ..Because it felt a lot like someone was airing his dirty laundry without his consent. Like his pain and grief were suddenly on display for the entire world to see…to judge...

…_Well fuck 'em._

He remembered how she hated apples, but liked apple pie. She liked the winter better then the summer, and sneaking up behind him, tickling with glacial fingers. She liked him rough faced rather then clean shaven. She had always liked the burn, relishing in the marks that were slow to fade. She liked slow dancing, but could go on a half an hour tangent about why she hated Margaret Atwood. She had a bible on her bed side table that she'd never read, and a picture of them from back in high school, sitting on her Mama's back porch swing, resting foremost on her dresser. But perhaps most of all, he remembered how she had this way of smiling with her eyes. It was something that had never failed to make him smile_ right_ back. Because after all, he'd never really been able to help himself as far as she was concerned, hadn't since the beginning….

But now she was gone, and he was left alone with nothing but those moments. Memories of all the times over the years where he had slung his arm over her shoulders in his old pickup, telling her he would always look after her, no matter what, whispering things that he didn't even have the balls to admit to himself into her loose auburn ringlets. Memories of how his truck tires had roared down that gravel drive, the same one he must have driven over countless thousands of times throughout the years, engine gunned to the limit as he saw her running, screaming.._bleeding_… Barely ahead as her folks and little Mitch Thompson, the gangly limbed paper boy, chased close at her heels, her bare feet eating up the distance like truck tires streamlining across a smooth blacktop road.

_But it wasn't enough. Not this time._

He remembered how his heart had seized, going cold and rock hard in his chest. Rage and fear coursing through him in kind when he saw the blood that flecked across her sheer, porcelain skin, dripping down to soil her pretty blue blouse. The special one her mama had gotten her from some fancy store in Atlanta last month. He had liked it because it _didn__'__t_ match the color of her eyes. Instead it reminded him of the color of Mrs. Kerkin's kitchen window, the same one they had walked past every day on their way to the bus stop during high school. The old lady herself often waving as they wandered past, hands dusted up to the elbows in flour as the smell of freshly baked cherry pie and peach cobbler followed them down the road.

She had only laughed when he'd told her, finally prompted by her unrelenting teasing when she visited the farm only a few days later. Her dimples deepening as a smile spread across her flushed cheeks, wrinkling her nose in that exact same way that never failed to make his pulse go electric, thrumming with that unique sort of warmth that only _she_ had ever been able to wring out of him.

He knew the very moment she saw him. He doubted he would ever let himself forget it. Because even as he had nearly fallen out of his truck, feet tangling in the seat belt as he left the engine running, reaching across the seat for his .32. Already cocked and loaded, she had screamed his name, swerving towards him as her naked heels slammed into the hard packed earth. Giving it her all as her feet ate up the distance between them. All but flying towards him as her reddish brown hair streamed out behind her, standing out like the exclamation point of an unanswered question.

_But he was too late. He had failed her again, this time when she had needed him the most._

Because before he could even so much as raise the shotgun and snap off a shot, the one in the lead made an unexpected lunge, bringing her down against the side of the barn in a sickening tangle of exposed limbs. He lost her in the crush. Losing the flashes of her freckle dusted skin as they fell into the long grass, leaving him with nothing but the sight of those rhythmically pressing bodies and the blinding glint of gore stained teeth catching in the cheerful, afternoon light.

_She hadn't made a sound. Not his girl. _

His screams seemed to echo through the air even louder then the deafening crack of his shotgun as the bullets found home. But even as he fired, taking down one after the other, again and _again_, somehow she locked eyes with him through the fray. …Begging him to do it. _To__ end __it_. To end it for her so that she didn't have to suffer any more.

But he hadn't. _He__ couldn__'__t.__.._Not her.

And by the time he brought down the last one, throwing the horrid thing off her as he cried out her name, they had already ripped into the softness of her belly, shredding her skin as if it had been no more then a piece of worn fabric left abandoned on a line. He remembered the dangerous mist of liquid red that had blanketed his vision as he dragged her free, voice breaking as he brought her into the curve of his chest. Unable to look at the way her eyes, those bright almond green eyes, had gone dark and empty. …_She__ had__ left__ him __before__ he __could __even__ say__ goodbye.._

And now he had to live with that.

He had promised himself that he would protect her. And he had kept that promise even when work and petty teenage squabbles had pulled them apart, forcing them to go their separate ways into adulthood. But he had always wondered, off in the back of his mind, that maybe she still felt the same. Because despite their talks, long summer nights spent lazing in her daddy's barn, staring up at the night sky through the slats of the wooden roof, his stomach simmering with a gentle sort of warmth as she talked about wanting babes of her own someday. It was now _years_ past those days, and despite the reverence behind those wishes, she had never gotten married. Besides, ever since he'd come back from the working the rigs a few years back, the phone lines between them were more in use then not, and the smell of freshly baked apple pie had wafted from his kitchen counter more then once.

He had begun to think that maybe..

…_No!_

He cut himself off in mid thought, curling his lip in self disgust, making half the group jump in surprise around the fire at the unexpected sound as he spat viciously into the flames. He could almost hear Merle's voice, surly and sneering, in the back of his mind. _"__Quit__ your__ belly__ achin__' __kid.__ It__ ain__'__t__ helpin__' __you__ none.__"_ His teeth sank into his lower lip, the motion almost vicious in its slow, deliberate nature. Because he had to admit that it burned a bit to know that in spite of everything, Merle would have been _right._

_Perhaps hell really had frozen over after all.._

It wasn't the Dixon way to dwell on what was said and done. It was thoughts like that only bred trouble, and made not a lick of sense neither. Staying back there, back with the ghosts and the echoes wasn't going to bring her back; it wasn't going to bring _any_ of them back. Because in the long run, this twisted new world that they'd all lived to see wasn't really about _them_. It wasn't about him or even her. It was about survival. _Life._

… _It was about continuing on. It had to be. Because the way he saw it, they really had no other choice._

His posture went angry, shoulders hunching upwards as his spine straightened. It was time to buck the fuck up and show the world what they were really made of! Because now, more then ever, the future was where they had to set their sights. It was simple really. Rough, perhaps even cruel, but it didn't change facts anymore then did pissing on a brush fire and expecting the stream to put out the fucking flames.

…And perhaps if he hadn't been so caught up in the enormity in his own disassociated thoughts, he might have realized that in a way, he was actually succumbing to a facet of the human condition he had spent the last few decades of his life railing against. That one emotion that was as unquenchable to the human spirit as a stubborn plant thirsting in the desert…_that __of_ _hope_.

**A/N:** One more chapter should wrap this story up. Reviews and constructive criticism are love!

"_Man can live about forty days without food, about three days without water, about eight minutes without air, but only for one second without hope" – Unknown_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** Please see original chapter for a complete set of warnings and other story related details. This chapter contains adult language and adult situations.

**Authors**** Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**Show me your Teeth – _Chapter__ 3_**

He was still collecting his thoughts. Biding his time as his thoughts spiraled outwards, stretching out like the extending tines of an umbrella, a mechanized skeleton that arched over top the others, roiling and squirming like a living, breathing thing as he threw another chunk of fresh pine on the fire. Shifting the blaze back down to low burn, when seemingly unbidden, Grimes finally spoke.

"You heard Jenner. About France, they nearly had it figured out. There will be someone else. They'll crack it." Rick murmured. His voice partially muffled as he pressed his lips into his wife's hair, fingers curled tight around the shoulders of his boy, as if at loath to relax his grip for even a moment. …_An__ action__ that __in__ itself, __didn__'__t__ exactly __instil__ overwhelming __confidence.._

And predictably the others only glanced at him, eyes sullen and disinterested; gleaming dull and dead in the low light as they huddled reflectively closer. Everyone sitting far too close, unconsciously pressed up against each others skin as if through the mere presence of those around them, they could somehow glean some small measure of comfort.

But as uncomfortable as the closeness made him, he didn't have much choice but to allow the contact. It was either that or go back to quietly freezing his ass off in the background. They hadn't had much time to collect kindling before darkness fell, and he wasn't about to waste what little gas he had left in his tanks just to turn on the heater. Though even he had to admit, as the warmth of the others seeped through the layers of his filthy clothes, spreading through him like the comforting haze only a full mickey of Jack Daniels can rightly provide, that the closeness wasn't _entirely_ unpleasant.

_But he decided not to look too much into that… Already figuring that he didn't like the direction it was heading anyway.._

In the end, it was that little sprite of a girl that he'd heard say maybe a score of words since he and Merle had joined this pathetic little pity party that finally said what they'd all been thinking. …_From__ the__ mouths__ of__ babes__ indeed.._

"…But what if they don't? Are we all going to die? Like…like Daddy?" She asked, her little voice warbling with exhaustion and a rather alarming sense of disassociation. It did something strange to his insides to hear it, twisting and clenching inside his gut as if he were about to be sick. …_A__ kid__ should __never__ sound__ like__ that.__ Ever._

Carol half-heartedly shushed her, but the questioned remained, floating in the air around their heads like the hazy smoke of the camp fire until it illuminated the smooth lines of little ones face, now only half shadowed by her striking, blond hair as her eyes remained affixed on Rick's face. _Waiting._

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Glenn look up from his hands. Fingers cradled together, the palm unconsciously rubbing against one another. As if trying to flake off bits of blood and gore that had already been meticulously and quite brutally scrubbed off the moment they had made camp. Like there was a mark there that wouldn't wash clean.

…'_Join__ the__ fucking__ club__ kid__…' _He snorted. The sarcasm behind the emotion so stark that his body reflectively straightened, forcing his eyes away from the haunted expression that was now lurking in the backdrop of the kid's eyes. _He__ didn__'__t__ need__ to __see__ that..__Not__ on__ him..__..Especially __not__ now.._

There was a long, pregnant silence before Rick spoke again, the man's face going momentarily blank as he visibly struggled to find the right words. It made him think about an observation that had been percolating in the back of his mind ever since he had first set eyes on the man. That for all the man's qualities, turning his thoughts into words was certainly not one of them. Not that he was any better mind you. …But then again, he kept quiet most times purely because he didn't think it was worth his time to respond.

"I cannot say anything with certainty Sophia. But what I do know is that somewhere in this world, there _has_ to be _someone_ working on this. ..Someone who is working on a _cure_ that will put a stop to all this. All we have to do in the meantime is to wait it out. _To_ _make __it._" Rick finally replied, looking the little girl directly in the eye before casting his gaze across the fire at the others. Very few of them met his gaze in return.

'_Great__ pep __talk__ Sheriff.__' _He thought derisively_,_ glaring at the officer through hooded eyes.

The man sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself then anyone else. He shook his head minutely. Because in the end he knew different, Captain America over there, as well meaning as he was, had it all wrong. These people didn't need explanations and assurances. They had gotten that wish and it had nearly fried them like a bee swarm hitting a bug zapper. What they needed now was a _reason_ to fight.

A _reason_ to keep going. A _reason_ to live.

He could see they were beginning to lose it, that drive to survive. It was like they had been counting on the CDC to provide **more** then just answers, more then a safe place to hole up from this nightmare. They had cast their chips in, and bet it all. Their sanity, their strength, their will to keep going, all on the slim chance that the CDC would be the answer they had been hoping for.

_But **he** hadn't. He wasn't that stupid…or that naive. In his experience, the world rarely worked like that, even back in the days when there hadn't been hordes of deadheads shambling around every corner._

It was different with the other two. Jenner had already made his decision long before they had shown up, everything else between had been the man simply going through the motions. He had never wanted to survive.. Not without his wife at any rate. TS-19, or whatever it was that he'd called her. Because after he lost her, the man could no longer roust the need in himself to solve this, to find a cure for the virus like they had all originally sought. No, by the time they had arrived the man was only fulfilling a promise_._ And in a strange way he had to respect that. The man could have blown his brains out a long time ago. But he didn't. He carried on because of a promise he had made, a promise to a dead woman, a ghost. If nothing else, that in itself took stones.

Jacqui he had no idea about. He had never really gotten to know her at all. But he had gotten the impression that she had been a woman that had been married to her work, a bit feisty in a mothering sort of way he supposed. But it was just as obvious that she couldn't take it. _The __fear,__ the__ uncertainty_. Maybe it all came down the low, moaning screams that had slipped from Jim's lips as she had tended him in the back of the Winnebago. Or maybe she had simply seen a decent way to make an out, and had taken it. He wanted to say she was weak, that she should have been stronger. That she should have wanted it more. But in spite of himself, he found that he couldn't. He supposed that at the end of the day, he just didn't have that right.

He shifted in place, fists clenching as he pushed the whispers back. There wasn't any sense in dwelling in the past was static. It couldn't feed you, or clothe you, or give you an edge. It didn't give a damn about where you were _now _and what you were facing. It was dead, done, and over with. And there was nothing any of them could do to change that. It was simply how the world worked.

A wolf howled somewhere in the near distance, and he flicked his eyes back across the fire just in time to see the old man tentatively reach up. A wide palmed hand falling gently atop the curve of Andrea's shoulder as he finally placed his crushed wad of tissues in her unresponsive lap. But she didn't even twitch. _Didn__'__t__ even __blink._

'_Pathetic..__' _A voice in the back of his mind hissed, censure practically dripping from his tone as he watched the woman simply sit there, mindless of the others, hell likely not even noticing the man still pressing protectively against her side. ..It was like she didn't even care at all..

_He didn't understand these people. Not one fucking bit._

_Didn__'__t__ they__'__all__ know__ nothin__'__?_ Didn't they know that they _had_ to survive this? Hadn't they listened to that scientist? Because if anything else, the little fucker had gotten one thing right. This _was_an 'extinction event' or whatever crap term he'd come up with. They _had_ to survive this or everything would be over. All of it! The entire human race gone, finished, done. Did they really want to give up everything they had, everything they **were** and just let fate decide the rest? This wasn't about personal morals, choices, or opinions anymore, this was about survival.

"Enough." He finally growled. "Y'all want to opt out? _Fine._ Then take the easy way out." He spat, temper finally fraying as he rose to his feet and turned to face the lot of them.

If they needed someone to hate, something burn away the chill of apathy and jumpstart the fire in their blood, bringing their minds back to reality to face the severity of their situation, well, then he could do that. He could provide them with someone to hate, someone to be angry with in the place of the real enemy. Just as long as they regained that _burn_, that _desire_ to keep going.

"But if you want to survive? Then start acting like it!" He hissed, face twisting as his fists clenched at his sides, fingers itching for action even as he tempered the emotion down. Because even he could sense that this was the moment, it was either make it or break it. He had to do this right. Because there were no more second chances. Not this time.

As his tone rose, both Rick and Shane made a small, aborted movement. Something that hinted action before Lori placed a small, but decisive hand on Rick's knee. Effectively stopping the both of them as she sat up straighter, hands coming down to lace overtop her husbands as she sent them both a meaningful look. But he hardly noticed. He was in full swing now. As words long withheld slipped off his tongue like molasses circling its rim, coming out thick and viscous, but just like the sugary treat itself, the words were almost impossible to stop once they were in motion.

"Didn't y'all hear that asshole back at the CDC? If we don't survive, that's it. There's nothin' left. We just blip out of existence like the fucking dinosaurs. We'll be a single, bloody footnote in the history of the earth. Except this time there'll be no one left to even _write_ about it!" He continued, lungs shuddering as he forced himself to pause, sucking in another long breath before the words began again.

"Do you'all really want that?" He rasped, tone dipping low as he kicked the dirt at his feet for good measure, feeling a strange, and rather alarming sense of satisfaction as Andrea jumped in her seat, fingers curling reflexively around the paper napkins still sitting in lap even as she raised her head. Her eyes as alert and focused as he had seen them in days.

"For fucks sakes people, show your teeth! Life 'aint something given or granted to you for free! Life doesn't owe you dick! You have to _fight_ for it. And _fight_ to_ keep __it!_" He snarled, finishing with a tone that was caught somewhere in between disgust, frustration, and utter exhaustion.

_And for a long time, there was only the silence…_

But as it turned out, somewhere along the line he must have erred. Because on no ones face save for Shane's, did he see even the slightest hint of anger. They had been looking for a direction, a reason, _hell_ even a god damn hope, and he had inadvertently given it to them simply by speaking the truth. He laid out the facts as plain and as blunt as they were. _No__ more__ and__ no __less._No sugar coating and certainly no bullshit. And in return, despite now being absolutely positive that he would _never_ understand these people, the atmosphere around the fire had unexpectedly changed. The air above them going charged and almost electric as the flames seemed to rise just a fraction of a millimetre higher. Sending sparks flinging off into the darkness like swarms of lightening bugs caught in an updraft. And worst of all, it made him think that perhaps for now, _this_, the growing energy and heated gazes that were smouldering to life all around him, would somehow be enough.

Because now Glenn was looking at him like he was actually _seeing_ him for the first god damned time. Face a racetrack canvas of far too many emotions to discern, all assessing eyes and the faint, tugging hints of a knowing smile. And while he didn't know how he felt about that, what he _did_ know was that the fire was back in the kid's eyes. The same fire that he had seen in that alley way back in Atlanta, the same drive, the same _need_. Hell, even Lori, who barely said a word in passing to him if she could help it, was staring at him. Her mouth open and gaping like a damn rainbow trout. Even Rick seemed at a loss. Lips parted, as if caught in the act of speech, only no sound made it past his disbelieving lips.

But even then he didn't have very long to wait for the inevitable implosion. Because Shane was already shifting place, the motion restless and almost violent as he reacted. Face going hard and promising confrontation as he made to rise. And for his own part he bristled. As if the fact that the man had to breathe even the same air as him was some sort of offence.

_This was obviously going to end well._

"You need to back off man; you can't just go around saying stuff li-." Shane began, voice all but itching for a confrontation, before he was resoundly cut off by Glenn. The younger man rising from his place in the log, seemingly stirred into action once again as he moved to stand between them.

_About bloody time._

"No! Look, he's right. This might be bigger then us, and we might need to know why this all started, but not right now. Not after-… Look we tried that and it didn't work out so great. Besides those answers aren't going to do us any good if we are dead..or..well, you know." He remarked, nodding over at him as if to reference him in point.

"We aren't that far from Hapeville. I know the city pretty well; there are some out lying grocery stores and gas stations that aren't on the main stretch." Glenn began, his voice becoming animated for the first time in over a day as the man's thoughts took on a life of their own. He could practically _see_ the cogs turning in the kid's brain.

_It was a start at least._

Over top of their heads, he let Rick catch his eye, taking in the man's considering look without comment. Not letting even a single emotion show as the man's eyes surpassed surprise and slowly morphed into a growingly grateful look. But he simply looked away with a small, barely perceptible nod. _He__ didn__'__t__ need__ the__ man__'__s __approval, __and__ he__ didn__'__t __want__ it__ neither._ After all, just because he was content for the moment to let the older man call the shots, it didn't mean he was bound to like him. And if anything else, it was that exact sense of self entitled, god damned foolish pride that loosened his tongue for the second time.

"What we need is a plan for right now. We worry about tomorrow, or next week, or whatever the fuck it is we need to worry about when it comes. We need to get our shit together before we start worrying about what comes next. For now we need to worry about three things. Food. Gas. And shelter. Not the future, and not anymore stinking 'answers' either. Right now we need to worry about us, and our situation. Take care of our _own_ problems before we decide to tackle the rest of them." He finished, flashing the others a hard glare from across the circle before he returned his gaze to the fire.

And while he didn't let it show, discomfort rose, crawling up his back like something dank and possibly even slimy before as he shook it off. Suddenly cognizant of that fact that that had probably been the longest spiel he had uttered in a single sitting since he and Merle had first arrived back at the quarry in the face place_.__ Huh._

_But not even he could have predicted what happened next._

"A-_freakin_-men man." T-Dawg suddenly replied. The characteristically withdrawn man breaking the quiet with such a typical slack jawed, Georgian drawl that he nearly smirked. The man's head lifting as his eyes went animated and sharp for the first time in hours, apparently unaware that his exclamation had drawn the attention of everyone around the fire.

And while it was another silence that followed in the wake of the man's words, it was immediately clear that _this_ was a lull of an entirely different kind. It was the kind of silence where plans were being made, where thoughts turned forward, and hopes, as battered and as bruised as they were, dared to soar once again.

'_Must__ be __that__ good__ old__ fashioned__ Dixon__ charm.__' _He thought with an inner huff. Frustrated amusement threatening an expression he knew he'd sooner cut off a limb then openly express. He bit the smile back. _Barely_.

But even then he couldn't help but nod in kind. Inclining his head toward the larger man, the very same moment he was struck by the realization that the night air no longer seemed quite as frigid as it had been only a few minutes before. _Well__ he__'__d__ be__ god damned__…_

_Perhaps there was hope for the rest of them after all…_

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! This story is now completed thank you for all your support throughout the writing of this story, I hope you enjoyed! (Again, I wrote this story before Season 2, actually even before the season two teaser. What you see here is merely spell/grammer edit. So please keep that in mind when reading).

"_All__ species__ capable__ of__ grasping __this__ fact__ manage__ better __in the struggle for __existence__ than__ those __which __rely__ upon__ their__ own__ strength__ alone:__ the __wolf, __which __hunts__ in __a__ pack, __has__ a__ greater __chance__ of__ survival__ than __the __lion,__ which__ hunts__ alone.__"__-__ Christian__ Lous__ Lange_


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